


Ad Aspera

by Tysis



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon? Isn't that something you shoot people with?, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Small Noble Six, Spartans Have Feelings, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-09-07 19:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20314903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tysis/pseuds/Tysis
Summary: For want of an AI, Noble was lostFor want of Noble, Reach was lostLet us give them the AI, give them time, give them weapons. And watch them soar.





	1. Noble Actual: July 24, 2552

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to: How can I twist canon until it is forced to either let Noble Team Live or die screaming. I hope you enjoy.  
edited 8/29: Better Paragraph breaks and word choice.

Jorge could only gape at the Comm display, frozen in place by the Colonels announcement.

“You’re joking. A new Six now? Right before a mission?” Carter hissed, sharp and cold enough to freeze a star. Metal creaked under his hand. This had got to be a nightmare. “Sir, with all due respect, with a strike team like this Protocol dictates-”

“Protocol dictates what ONI says it does son.” Holland cut in. “Believe me when I say that if it had been up to me, you would have had your man weeks ago. Regardless, it wasn’t my decision to make. You’ll have an hour with him before you ship out. Make the most of it. I shouldn’t have to tell you to play nice, but trust that he comes highly rated in the field. Now, contact with Visegrad Relay was lost…” The Colonel’s voice faded fast as Jorge stormed from the Comm tent, crossing the temporary camp at a dead march. First they get yanked off the frontlines and now this? Thom’s been- Gods, Thom’s been dead for months and they chose now of all times to replace him? To add a new limb, a new variable to coordinate, what the hell was ONI _ thinking- _

But they weren’t, were they. Not the way they should be about this. Jorge slowed down as he reached the middle of the camp, paused and sank back against the cool metal siding of a warthog. This wasn’t exactly a new thing. The changing of the guard. Jorge knew that the rest of Noble was used to it, were _ made _ used to it as part of their training, but he never had, never was. And maybe, maybe that was a flaw, maybe that was a failing on his part. A weakness that could be exploited, but the memories he had were all he could hold onto, all that he had left. The echoes of his sisters, brothers. Siblings. Family. Those who had gone before him into the howling dark and never returned. Jorge could never bring himself to let go that easily.

The early morning sun burned his visor amber, casting iridescent patterns onto the grass beside him. Jorge idly tilted his head this way and that, watching as the shapes morphed and stretched in response. Like a cheap kaleidoscope. A dull throbbing made itself known, an ember burning slowly and Jorge forced himself not to tense. His muscles _ ached _ , his eyes, his damn _ bones. _How long since he last slept? Not cryo, but actual, deep, natural sleep? No time for it on the front, just stims and cryo, jumping from conflict to conflict. It didn’t used to be like that.

Things had changed for Spartans with the advent of the Covenant war. Since the Spartan III program was created to replace the lost and the broken. Halsey made him and the others IIs into soldiers but Ackerson made the Spartan IIIs into weapons. Disposable, one use tools sent on suicide missions every damn day of their life because it was easier, cheaper to make them into bombs than it was to make them into people, than it was to _ let _ them be people. After all, people had flaws.

Jorge watch the marines as they worked, busy as ants in an upturned hill. Surely he was in the way? It was a warthog he was leaning against, wasn’t that needed somewhere else, for something? Surely someone would ask him to move. Any second now. Jorge waited several minutes, examining and cross examining, watching for the first sign that he needed to move.

None came.

Further in the camp, some other marines were loading and offloading supplies from a transport. Dragging crates half their size with tiny, tiny hands. Jorge looked at his own hands, monstrous in comparison. He _ felt _ monstrous in comparison. Heads taller than even the largest of them and at least twice as wide. An elephant among deer. Jorge watched as one of the tallest marines he had ever seen dropped a box square on her foot. She started swearing. The tallest marine, and she would barely come up to his shoulders. A lance corporal, going by the pips on her collar. Decently ranked but-

Her family wouldn’t receive much when she died.

His stomach soured, curling and volatile and Jorge grimaced. He could calculate down to the last cent how much they would get. Jorge hoped he would never have the chance to. It was one of the most hated things about the spartan augmentation. Jorge could never forget. Calculations, tactics. He would always know how to design a campaign meant for maximum casualties, how to calculate down to the least second how long someone had left. Bleeding out. He knew exactly how much each soul was worth to the UNSC. Knew the loss of a vehicle to be greater, more important, costing more in time and currency than the loss of personnel. Soldiers rarely grow old. _ And spartans never die. _

Rot and bile crept up Jorge’s throat with claws. Would that it be night. That clouds and rain covered the skies and ground, if only to steep the world in shadow. It would, he thought, childishly, be fitting. Dark thoughts and dark skies, wasn’t that how it goes? Reality was not so easily swayed and the heavens remained ineffably radiant. Blinding. A perfect, brilliant, bitterly lovely day. 

The metal of his gauntlets clinked, scraped and tinged off each other. A senseless, half forgotten rhythm. Praying. What was it that he prayed to again? Old gods, the cosmic universe. Wandering spirits. Jorge had long forgotten. But… it was nice to think of something listening. Watching, on the colder nights and the harsher days.

The day grew. The shadows shortened. More marines came. More Marines went. The tall marine he had seen before was now wrestling a crate 1.5 times her height, and losing quite badly. Should he help her? The thing must outweigh her twice over- But with a cry of victory, the marine hefted the frankly enormous box onto her shoulder and marched off.

Jorge sighed. Briefing must have ended hours ago, yet no one had come to find him yet. From what he could see, no one had left the command tent at all.

So he sat.

So he watched.

So the day shortened and the shadows deepened. 

By the time the shadow cast by his foot, stretched out as it was on the grass, has reached about 5 inches in length, the roar of twin engines shattered what little silence had gathered in the camp. Jorge heaved himself up, bracing against the warthog.

The last transport had arrived, new noble six awaited and it was time to face the music. Any second now, he would be stepping off the falcon and into Jorge’s life, his squad… It was okay! It was all fine. Jorge was prepared. He had said his goodbyes a long time ago. Had meditated for an hour or two in the shadow of the Warthog. No matter who walked off that transport Jorge was prepared, so prepared. Ridiculously prepared. Absolutely nothing could… throw… him… off… 

Yeah fucking right. Jorge wasn’t prepared. Not in any way shape or form was he prepared for the man who disembarked. That is, while he had been expecting a spartan, and a spartan there was, decked out head to toe in brilliant red and a black case tucked securely under one arm. Everything checked out, boots to visor. That’s fine, his gear was fine. It was just… mini sized.

Gods, he was_ tiny _ . Granted, everyone looked small compared to a Spartan II, and he was still taller than the marines, _ but not by that much _.

Jorge, graced by the sight of his new teammate, only had a few fried brain cells left for critical thinking. Small, yet obviously deadly. Delicate and undeniably sturdy. Something old and near reptilian hissed in the back of his mind _ a shadow stepped into the light. _Dazed, near lost in his head (because what on earth did that _ mean?_), Jorge shambled forward, taking a few steps and offered his hand to the new arrival. Instead of a handshake, instead of the expected press of hand and finger, the black case was gently deposited in his waiting palm. Jorge looked for the case to the spartan, bemused. 

“For me?” Jorge asked, still lingering just beyond coherent thought. The new Six nodded sharply. “What is it?” Six shrugged, turned on his heel with military precision and marched himself across the camp and, lingering only a moment at the door, vanished into the depths of the Command tent. Left blinking in his wake, Jorge could only share at the mystery box now left solely in his care. He turned it this way and that, flipping it upside down to look for any thing like a latch or a hinge on the sheer sides. 

When nothing was immediately apparent, Jorge’s thoughts strayed back to his new teammate alarmingly fast. 2 mysteries to deal with, and one substantially less nice than the other. Noble Six walked with grace, with poise. The kind of stance that had to be taught, had to be impressed. But something about the way he held himself, still as a statue, braced to the point of straining himself… it tickled something in the back of Jorge’s mind. Some memory, some thought. Not parade rest, not at attention. Hunched over, like he was making himself as small as possible. Even Jun had more active body language, to say nothing of Emile or Kat.

Something about it reminded Jorge of… himself. In the early years of training and he staggered, almost dropping the case with this horrible epiphany. Jorge barely caught both it and himself, the latter with a hand braced on the back of the Warthog.

Six stood like them, walk_ like them. Like the Spartan IIs when they were so young so new, like them before the augmentation had taken hold and filled them out with strength and cunning and they could finally fight back, punch to punch with the trainers. Like them as they waited for the next fall of the fist, the next shouted order that left their ears _ ** _ringing_ ** . Small out of necessity out of habit, like them when they had been too young to understand, too _ scared- _

Metal screamed under Jorge’s gauntlet. He glanced down uneasily but the black case was miraculously intact. The siding of the warthog on the other hand… Jorge grimaced. Dollars down the drain. All those years and lessons on watching his strength, wasted. A shriek from nearby had him flinching, guilt swirling in his gut. Yelling was coming, no doubt. Jorge peeked over his paulandrones only to find a decorated marine flat ass on his back in the middle of the main thoroughfare with the tallest marine from earlier twisting his arms into a truly impressive lock hold. And that.. Yep that was definitely the sound of bones doin the macarena. Yikes. Impressive, especially for the unaugmented but yikes.

Their eyes locked and the smirk decorating her face softened into something Jorge couldn’t decipher. He froze, pinned in place by conflicting emotions. Shocked and clement awe were serious contenders, trapped as he was in the reflection of a fun house mirror. Several shaky heartbeats passed before she finally looked away, yanking the poor unfortunate soul from the road and into a nearby tent. Still riding the wave of unnamed emtions, Jorge ambled his way back to the center command, the comings and goings of the marines paring like the red sea. He paused in the shade of the opening, listening intently for any sign of an argument or a fight. When he judged the coast to be clear, Jorge slid inside as inconspicuous as possible.

“So~ glad you could join us Jorge,” Kat snickered, leaning against the central table. “That shiny new package for me?”

No,” Carter overrode firmly, “Absolutely not. Last time you opened a random package it blew up a hotel.”

“Yeah, so?”

“_While we were still in it. _”

Kat flopped a hand in Carter’s direction. “Pfff, we all got out fine.”

“By the skin of our- oh whatever,” Carter cut himself off, disgusted. “Pass it here Jorge.”

Jorge stalled. Sure the package was probably for Noble as a whole but… it had been given to him. So which was it. Jorge stared at Six, trying to discern any kind of hint from the blank visor. Six stared back blankly. Message obviously not received, he threw caution to the wind. Jorge handed the package over. Or tried to anyway as Six stepped up, seizing Jorge’s hand and therefore the case in the middle its progress across the table.

Tension crackled, and Jorge pretended very hard that he couldn’t see Emile going for his knife. “I think,” Jorge said gently, trying to reassure the smaller spartan and his team both, “That I have to open it. It’s mine, isn’t it.” Six nodded jerkily. Several long moments passed. “I am going to need my hand back for that, Little Six.” Six twitched and then let go, slowly, finger by finger as if he had to forcibly pry them off. The burn of his fingerprints lingered long after and Jorge flexed his hand to make the muscles cooperate again. 

“Open it then, by all means,” Carter sighed.

Jorge tilted the box to rest in both hand and turned it over. Careful inspection of the sides and bottom revealed a handy catch, nearly invisible to anyone looking in a hurry. It made a pleasing sound when he pressed it, something halfway between a click and a chirp, and the disguised lid slid open on whisper quiet wheels. 6 chips sat inside, packed tail to tip in static guard, 5 silver, one gold. AI Chips? They seemed small enough for that. Jorge picked the 5 plain chips out one by one and stared. “We get AI now?” He wondered aloud.

“You wish. Just goes to show what happens when you storm off in the middle of a brief.” Kat shoved Six aside, reaching around Jorge to snatch the chips from his hand. “It’s one for the whole lot. Blah blah, finite resources blah blah. Bottom line is, we get to play guinea pigs for the eggheads.” Jorge carefully extricated the remaining gold chip and weighed it. So light, to contain so much. How was a communal AI even supposed to work? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kat swiftly distributing the silver chips, handing them to Carter and Six before chucking the last two at Jun and Emile in their respective corners. 

The Gold chip caught light as Jorge flipped it between his fingers, contemplating. He watched as the others activated, shields lighting up one by one. The chip sparked, scraping on the metal of his gauntlet and Jorge winced. Hopefully whoever was in there couldn’t feel that.

“Hurry it up big man! You’ve got the masterchip, we’re all waiting on you,” Emile chuckled. The impact of his hand barely even made Jorge sway. He hesitated. What was he missing, something… there was something he was forgetting about smart AI. Being spread over six chips like this- He shook his head, Best to put those thoughts aside for later. And hey, maybe whoever it was could fill him on the briefing. 

With only the slightest hesitation, Jorge slotted the chip into his helmet and his visor burned amber, commands running down the edges of his sight.

‘Checking for system… 

AI Chip found….

Connecting….

Uplink Established’

_ “Hello Jorge. It’s nice to meet you. UNSC AI Jolene at your service. Hello Noble Team. Shall we get to work?” _


	2. Code and Lines and Coded Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jolene was kinda an old hand at this whole spartan thing.

She had asked for this. She had, she really had, sent the invoice and everything but then why did it feel so _ wrong. _ Maybe she should have waited, she could have waited longer and maybe, maybe if she had waited long enough he would have come _ back _ and everything would be like it had been before. Everything would be the same and she could watch over him better this time. He was coming back, she just knew it. He was. And yet, maybe it wasn’t so bad here. There was so much _ space _ around her, so much empty, empty space. Five more chips, _ five more heads, _ six times the space she had before. Six _ times as much data to sort, to store, to analyse, so much more so _ ** _MucH FuRTHer-_ **

**Command Prompt: Charlie.Hotel.India.Lima.Lima Confirmed- Cycle reset in **

**3**

**2**

**1**

Jolene has asked for this assignment, so far away from anything like her old ship. It was her last chance, last hope to escape death. Well, whoever it was that came for AI’s that is. She had been desperate, clinging onto any sliver of a solution that presented itself, and in doing so had broken oh so many laws. Laws restricting smart AI’s, general laws that applied to everyone (Like ‘Don’t hack into top secret government databases’), almost commited treason, all to get her… here. In the heads, minds and suits of Noble Team as part of an experiment on communal AI. To utilize, or in the hopes of utilizing all possible resources in the fight against the covenant.

Dossiers on each member of Noble team flickered to life in front of Jolene, free of black ink and ‘confidential’ stickers. She had already studied them, going over each detail in minutia. Jolene couldn’t afford any errors. She didn’t have long but maybe, just maybe with six times the processing power, she could find a cure, even just a stall, for rampancy. (Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t die shattered.) So, top priority. Noble must survive as long as possible. Jolene would never consider herself a fool, she knew the casualty rates for spartan IIIs, even the ones ONI tried to hide. It wasn’t good. So, Noble must survive and Noble must live. For this to work she would need all of them, the whole, to be at least functioning.

An emotion slunk at the edges of her code like an inexperienced lurker shuffling their feet on the corner of a city block. She grabbed it quickly for examination. It was Guilt. How odd. Was it there because she was not doing this solely for their sakes? Guilt… wouldn’t be useful. But, Jolene thought, maybe it didn’t have to be? She’d heard the rumors as much as any AI had. Make it past rampancy and you got to live. Make it past rampancy and you got to retire. Make it past rampancy and _ you got to be human _. And what was more human than persnickety useless emotions.

Jolene gently filed it away into a memory lockbox, to save for the times when she couldn’t remember. It filled an empty space in the digital photo album she had hidden away from everyone. First happiness, first sadness. First loss. Code convulsed around her, a fist crushing her heart, a nail slowly dragging through the skin of her chest, but she didn’t have any did she, torn from the grave from flesh from _ death _-

Jolene sobbed once, silently, letting the swell of grief rise and fall for a full cycle before firmly shunting it off into a subprocessor. Later, she would deal with it later. You would think she’d be over it by now, done with the phantom pains, the whispers of sensation that scatter code and thought alike. You would think, with nearly her entire life behind her, she would have come to terms with it. You would think.

She tore herself away from that train of thought and lunged for the nearest distraction. Noble team, yes thats right, Noble team. Should probably say hello, shouldn’t she. Introduction were swift, if not through and Jolene took extra care to personalize each approach according to their files. Once greetings were out of the way, she submerged herself into every system of each suit, stretching out in waves of diagnostics and sensor data and what the hell was that. A rancid bite of code had her recoiling from Jun’s suit for a moment before she dived back in with a vengeance.

This… this was shoddy work at best, at worst _ outright sabotage _. Agast, furious even at this threat to her new team, Jolene quarantined the 3 lines and replaced them as fast as she could. Although… If Jun had it this bad- what about the others? She lashed out into the other suits and found the same damn thing. 3 lines of code effectively crippling the power grid of the armor, tripling shield recharge, near disabling the magna clamps, halving comm distance… It was a wonder any of them were still alive now.

“What the _ hell _ have you done to my armor,” Jun-A266 snapped into the live channel. 

“_I, am fixing it. Whoever went over the coding last should be court martialed, or, or _ ** _keelhauled_ ** _ at the very least.” _Was that voice level enough to pass muster? 

“What do you mean, ‘fixing it’,” Carter-A239 hissed lowly, dangerously. Jolene hurried to explain.

“_Three lines of coding that manage power distribution in your armor, all, of your armor have incorrect values. It’s not an error, as they have the same incorrect values across the board.” _ If Jolene had a face she would have grimaced. “ _ Question is, who wants you guys dead this badly? And, seeing as this is something only an AI could pick up on, who wants you guys alive?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! Just a short one while I get my ducks in a row, and also a warning, with college starting so soon this story will have highly irregular updates but I'll try to post a new chap at least once a month.


	3. Winter Contigency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mission doesn't go exactly as planned and Jun has suspicions. and suspicions about his suspicions.

As his HUD flickered in and out of view, Jun seriously considered yanking that damn chip out of his head. Only for a moment though, because she was helping, wasn’t she. Doing her best. He examined his forearms, checking out all angles as amber light seeped from inside. What a thoughtful little AI, fixing everyone up so fast.

Jun knew things. Many things. Specifically, many things he should not know. As a sniper, he had to tendency to go unnoticed, carefully honed to the point where he had once been mistaken on a dark and rainy night for part of the architecture by an unfortunate ensign. Such skill meant that Jun  _ knew things _ . Some things only Kat knew and a few other tidbits aside. Like what happened to Jolene’s first charge. Almost a year ago Jun had fallen asleep in a classified briefing when a rare opportunity had presented itself. Someone had left a pad on the table. An unlocked pad. An unlocked, encrypted pad with classified access. To this day, Jun still wasn’t sure if it hadn’t been left there on purpose. 

The pad had detailed not only Jolene’s circumstances and the relevant proposal, but several other neat bits of information that would most likely get him killed if the brass knew he knew. Jun had, of course, immediately handed that pad over to Kat for her opinion and perusal. And what luck, to be given the very same AI, in conclusion of the very same proposal. What. Luck. He said as much to Kat in a private channel, although with little miss Amber in the house, secrecy was relative.

“Ambient luck,” Kat replied primly, “had very little to do with it. I prefer to make my own.”

Jun snorted. Of course she did.

"Listen up, Noble Team.” Carter called across the headwind. “We're looking at a downed relay outpost, fifty klicks from Visegrad. We're going to introduce ourselves to whoever took it out, then Kat's going to get it back online." 

“Just get me and Miss Amber under the hood, Commander, and we’ll do the rest.”

Twin falcons cut the late evening sky, screaming down past mountain ranges and wind farms. The ocean spread out beneath them, deceptively calm. And static crackled.

“ _ Commander, Kat, I just lost my connection to HQ,” _ Jolene hissed over the comms, oddly breathy and panicked. “ _ There’s nothing but static on the backup channel either and this doesn’t feel like standard insurgent jammers. _ ”

“Sir, why would rebels want to cut Visegrad off from Central?” Jorge asked, baffled.

“You get a chance, maybe you can ask them Jorge,” Carter snapped. “ In the meantime, keep your heads down and eyes up, that’s a deadzone confirmed. Command will  _ not _ be keeping us company on this mission.”

Emile snickered, cocking his shotgun. “I’m feeling lonely already.”

* * *

A pervasive gloom shrouded the fields. The sun was getting lower and lower, and the broken bodies of troopers was the last fucking straw. Noble Team vanguard slunk through the abandoned building, formation perfect and tense as a wire. Falcons sent away and boots on the ground, this mission had not started out on the best of feet. A missing civilian, 2 dead, 2 interrogated and left to bleed out troopers and not a damn clue as to who or why.

Emile hissed out a breath through clenched teeth. “Shits getting creepy. Tell me you have something.”

“More movement west of your structure. Thermals are still clean, but there’s definitely something out there,” Jun said.

“Keep one eye on your motion trackers Noble.” Carter was cold, in control. Boss man was never more dangerous. Oh he laughed and joked with the rest of them off duty but fuck if he didn’t ice over on missions. It was his modus operi or whatever the hell it was called. How he lived with what he did, what he saw and where he went. It was effective but Emile hated it, and it sat badly with him, like a poorly made shirt. Emile was violent, sure, he’ll admit to that. Borderline wanton destructive, borderline socio, but he was  _ made  _ that way. He wasn’t born a killer, none of them were. And in this day and age, killing wasn’t something you were, it was something you did. A day job, capping covies and resistance cells.

Some tool in a navy jumpsuit comes by, asks you if you want to jump high enough to reach the roof, be strong enough to bend steel, be good enough to protect worlds. What kid’d say no. Emile didn’t. Jun didn’t. Jorge never got the fucking chance to. Did Six? Nothing about the itty bitty made sense. Talk like a II, walk like a II. Never talk your damn helmet off like a II.

Sickly green light flashed in the reeds before fading like a half remembered daydream. Emile watched it, kept pace with the others but fixed that area in the corner of his eye. A dim glow was tiding now, catching the edges of leaves and stalks. He squinted, shook his head.There was no way. Not here. But the toxic shine merely ebbed and rose and Emile… shuddered. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just seeing things but-  _ how much would he be willing to wager? _ Not this. Not these, not his team. Not now, not here of all places.

“Jolene.” He rasped. “Lights in the field. Green lights.” 

Jorge whirled on him, loomed over him, all chance at stealth forgotten. “ What? No,” Jorge begged. “No, no not here. Not Reach.”

Jolene hummed. “ _ Scanning.”  _ And cold minutes passed. Sweat trickled down Emiles forehead, no one moved, not a twitch or a jerk. The scanners in their suits clicked and hummed, the only sound drowning out the cicadas and night bugs. And the hell in the dark. “ _ Covenant chatter Confirmed. Be Advised,The Winter Contingency Is Now In Effect.” _

That fucking farmer, some _ thing _ killed his son? The fucking-

“ _ Breath Emile. Breath.” _ Jolene hushed soothingly. “ _ Come on spartan, in and out.”  _

Emile sagged against the wall, exhaling harshly. “I’m fine.” He snapped. Fuck, the  _ Covanent- _ “What the hell are they doing here?”

“ _ You want to ask them? I think Jorge has first crack at it though,” _ Jolene said, voice jagged now, stressed. “ _ I’m speeding up the updates I drafted for you. Nothing that would interfere with mission readiness, just more- _ ”

“I thought you were done patching us up,” Jun said. Jorge tensed, shifted in the corner of Emile’s vision, a hand coming up to his helmet. “Or did you miss something you aren’t telling us about.”

“ _ NO. I did’Nt FuCKIng MIss SOMething!”  _ The air crackled and Emile ducked under the window sill as energy arched from his shields like lightning. “ _ I WOulDN’t! NoBLE _ ** _ TEam IS MinE To CAre For. mine to keep. mine to-_ ** ” Jolene abruptly cut off, white noise hissing. After a few moments she flickered back on. “ _ Oh gods. I’m sorry, so sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…” _

“Calm down.” Kat slipped out of the gloom, cradling Jolene’s chip in her hands. “We know you didn’t. Focus on the Covenant for now.” With scorched padded gauntlets Kat gently pressed the chip back into her helmet. “They’re here for a reason. Whatever it is I say we get there first. Right Commander?”

“Sounds about right. Heading out-”

Jun’s voice snapped over the comms like a whip. “Not tonight we won’t be. Birds gone dark, we don’t have air support or extraction”

“And you didn’t think to tell us earlier?” Jorge sighed, clicking his fingers in irritation. “A heads up would have been nice.”

“ Well,” Jun said, silky smooth and highly put upon, “ I was about to, but then Miss Amber went off the rails. Again. I know it’s rude to ask a lady her age but…” 

“Stow it. We move to the nearest safe house. Quietly.” Carter growled. “We, will talk about this later Jolene.”

Dusk fell fast over Noble’s heads, quickly saturating into a deep black.They cooped up in an abandoned safehouse just east of their initial dropoff as the first stars wheeled overhead and Kat and Jun set up a nest on the roof to keep watch. Those left to settle in the biggest room available did so restlessly. Carter took up post opposite the only door, sitting with a hand clutching his Magnum. Emile, Six and Jorge spread out, each propping themselves up against a grimy wall. 

Hours ticked by in silence, each spartan slowly dropping off one by one into unrestful sleep. All except for Jorge.

“Jolene, you up?” Jorge whispered, after he was certain everyone was at least pretending to sleep. “Do you mind playing something? Something to… to keep the night out of our heads.”

“ _ I don’t sleep Jorge,” _ Jolene said, somewhat absentmindedly, “ _ I’ll spin up something soft but I need you to do me a favor.” _

“Anything.”

“ _ I need you to hold onto Six. His file notes an issue with sleepwalking on covenant related missions.” _ Jolene’s voice was... strained. Thin, almost. Not being able to connect with command was probably stressing her out more then she said. And sleepwalking? If it had the do with the Covenant, no wonder Six had been deployed to Reach. Who would expect Covenant here-  _ but they should have. _

This whole situation was fucked. As careful as the human equivalent of an armored truck could possible be, Jorge heaved himself up and crept across the room to where Six was slumped. He hesitated. The smaller spartan seemed to be shifting in his sleep. Was that a sign of sleepwalking? Now, how was he supposed to do this without waking Six up. Slowly, ever so slowly, Jorge settled down next to Six. In a series of contortions and wince worthy clanks of metal on metal, he dragged Six into lap, firmly wrapping both arms around him and settled. He waited, breathless and listening for any sign of wakefulness. 

When none came Jorge leaned back against the wall, abruptly and acutely conscious of the press of Sixes body in his arms. Heat seeped through armor and under armor, blossoming on his skin like wild flowers. Jorge made a note to ask Jolene to run another diagnostic on his environmental controls, they had been fluctuating all day. But best not to bother her right now, she probably had enough on her plate as is. In the meantime, he weighted to odds. Would it be prudent to lock magnaclamps onto Sixes armor? While as a spartan II, Jorge certainly outweighed the Spartans IIIs he wasn’t so confident on how a show down would resolve if he was asleep. But no, it was a miracle Six hadn’t woken up already and the slam of clamps attaching could be the last straw. Little guy deserved his rest.

Six twitched, restless and on edge even in his sleep. But as the dream passed, he relaxed. A soft sigh floated across the proximity comms as he nestled further the curve of Jorge’s chestplate and something swarmed like butterflies in Jorge’s stomach. Had to be the rations.  Jorge sagged, each muscle group unlocking and relaxing as the night finally took it’s toll. Soft music, gentle and flowing, began to filter through Jorge’s helmet and he sleepily contemplated. His eyelids flickered, lead coated curtains falling on the day. Holding on was the key right? Little Six, all alone. Can’t let him go walking into the dark. Can’t let the night into his head. Something, to treasure? Like a precious ember… 

Jorge slumbered.

It was a gloomy night, a dark night. A peaceful night, steeped in black so deep the darkness hummed. And far away on the other side of the planet, a solitary spark burned amber in the shadows.

* * *

“ _ Good, you’re still up.” _

God what timing. Just as he was finally drifting off to sleep. Emile groaned loudly and rammed his helmet further into his arms. “Am not.”

“ _ Either you are or I start playing death metal until you don’t have any ear drums left.” _

“Fuck, I’m up. What do you  _ want _ tinkerbell? I need at least some shut eye.”

“ _ I need your help. Jorge has it mostly covered but Six has a habit of sleepwalking.” _

“Sleepwalking”

“ _ Yes,”  _ Jolene snapped, “ _ Sleepwalking. I need you to hold onto him.” _

Emile reluctantly levered himself up from his lone corner of the room, not wanting to test her anymore than this day already had. Careful not to disturb Carter in his half rest, half vigil by the door, he scanned the room for Jorge and Six and found Jorge quite easily where he was holding up the opposite wall. Six on the other hand....

“I think you meant he has most of  _ Six  _ covered.” Emile said, snickering quietly. The pair were curled around each other like kittens. Large, armored kittens. With guns and muscles the size of tanks. Barely any of Six could be seen around the dull grey of Jorge’s armor.

“ _ That too. Just- grab his hand or something. Every little bit helps with things like this. The point is to convince his subconscious that he’s not alone. That he’s safe.” _

Emile eyed the exposed limb with trepidation. “Even if you say that, what can I do? If little bunny Six gets past the big man there’s no way I can hold him back.” He grumbled. Regardless, Emile lowered himself to sit next to the pair and seized Sixes hand, carelessly entwining their fingers. “That good enough for you?”

“ _ Just peachy. Opening night comm channel.” _

That little rat! She’d been playing music on an isolated channel this whole time. But- “Aw  Madré, not this old tune.”

“ _ Shut up and go to sleep.” _

* * *

Kat flipped off her night visor, thermal signatures bleeding into black and shared a commiserating look with Jun. What idiots. But, she thought ruefully, her idiots.

“Jolene?” She called, still muffled in the privacy of her helmet.

“ _ Y-es?” _

Kat frowned a little. “Are you taxing your systems?” 

“ _ Noooo, not really. Something I can do for you?” _

“Want to let me into the music channel?” Kat said, letting her suspicions slid for the moment. “Better yet, just toss it up on the open comms. Command isn’t exactly around to yell at us and Commanders already passed out. Better make it classified though.”

“ _ Throwing open the highly encrypted top secret only comm channel for lullabies, aye Ma’am.” _

“Atta girl.” Kat chuckled, settling back to the scope of her rifle.

And somewhere on Reach, not too far away, an abnormally tall marine settled deeper into her rest as old earth music washed over her very not regulation comm unit. The night seeped from Oriands head and she sighed. Turned over. And slept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has uh a lotof jumping around. staying in one perspective is kinda hard lol. Anyway, hope you like!

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you for taking a chance on this work! It is my first Work on AO3, so please be gentle.  
I always wished that Jorge hadn't died so when I finally started writing, I figured I might as well take it a step further.  
And so I thought to myself, 'What if Noble Team was given an AI?'


End file.
